


Tea For Two

by betweentheloins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheloins/pseuds/betweentheloins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is the last person that Harry expected to be working alongside when he took the open Defense Against The Dark Arts position at Hogwarts, but now there's nothing to do but put their past behind them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea For Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentmoppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/gifts).



> You can find me on Tumblr: @whysotensepotter
> 
> For my dearest Ellie on her birthday—
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! I couldn't stop writing this one (and it's also why I've been such a bad correspondent lately— sorry!). Congratulations, you and you alone got me to post a fic over 4k! 
> 
> I hope you have the happiest day!
> 
> Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
> 
> #brellen

“You’ll be fine, Harry,” Neville reassured him, patting him on the back as he steered him down another corridor.

“Yeah— Thanks, Nev,” muttered Harry as he stopped in front of the familiar gargoyle. He’d been to this office dozens of times, but only once while it was occupied by its current headmistress. 

“I’ll wait for you in my office so that we can head back to The Burrow for dinner,” Neville told him.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, though he wasn’t truly listening. If he had been, he may not have said yes to going back to The Burrow that night. He didn’t want to face them all if things didn’t go over well. Neville turned away, leaving Harry still staring at the gargoyle. 

“Are you going to give me the password or not?” it asked after a few moments, once Neville had rounded the corner.

Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Er—” he stammered, searching his pockets desperately for the piece of paper that had the password written on it. He knew he should have put it on his hand instead…

He was halfway to calling out for Neville to turn around when the gargoyle started to shift out of the way despite his lack of a password. Harry thanked his lucky stars and took the first step onto the spiral staircase. 

“Mr. Potter,” Minerva McGonagall greeted him when he reached the top, “I see old habits die hard.”

“Er— sorry, Professor?”

McGonagall sighed. “Your lack of parchment, Mr. Potter. It seemed to be a theme of yours in my class— specifically when asked to turn in your homework.” Harry chuckled lightly when he saw McGonagall’s kind smile. She must have known he would lose the password and ordered the gargoyle away herself. “Have a seat,” she gestured.

Harry noted how much the office had changed since its previous occupant had vacated. McGonagall had decorated the office rather… plainly. Oak furniture, upholstered in her preferred tartan design, and a few books here and there. She noticed him looking around.

“Professor Dumbledore and I had very different tastes, Potter, but my first instinct was never to redecorate. The Ministry and I agreed that a change in appearance would be best when the repairs to the school were finished— a fresh start for everyone. I’m sure you can understand.”

Harry nodded and cursed himself. Why was he being so damn quiet today? Where was his mind?

“I know it must be hard for you to be back here,” she said gently.

It was true— it had been so long since he had been there last, and things looked so different. This didn’t feel like his home anymore. It was like someone had purchased his house and made it their own. It was someone else’s space now. No wonder he was so distracted.

“The place has definitely changed, Professor. But it’s not so bad— I understand why you couldn’t keep things the way they were— too many images and that.”

“Precisely,” she agreed. “Now about why you requested this meeting—”

“Of course. Professor—”

“Minvera, please,” McGonagall corrected. 

Harry continued on, “— Professor, I’d like a job teaching here at Hogwarts— Neville told me that there was an opening for the Defense position. Of course I understand the irony of my coming here, asking like this… But I’m ready to be done with the life I currently have and I want to share what I know. I’m sure you remember Dumbledore’s Army—”

McGonagall’s face softened as she interrupted him. “Of course I do, Potter,” she said quietly. “I still don’t know you fools got away with it for so long, but I’ve rarely ever been prouder of my students.”

Harry looked up from his fumbling hands on the desk. “I taught it,” he told her, looking straight into her eyes. “I taught every single one of the members. I know you’re aware of my awards as an Auror, but I want to make it clear that I do have experience in teaching. At age fifteen I taught dozens of students how to do some of the most difficult defense spells there are. I taught them how to cast the Patronus Charm,” he said proudly.

McGonagall nodded along, quietly lost in thought. “And I’m sure Professor Longbottom can attest to this?”

He began to nod, and then it dawned on him. He hadn’t mentioned that Neville had been one of the DA. “You already knew,” he accused lightly.

“Of course I knew, Mr. Potter. I just needed to hear you say it. As a professor, you have to be able to ring your own bell from time to time.” She reached into her desk drawer and withdrew a brass key on a large ring. “The key is just a formality, of course. Your office will be warded to your specifications,” she said as she handed it to him. 

“I— sorry?” Harry stuttered, confused. 

McGonagall broke into a smile, her eyes twinkling. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Potter.”

***

“That’s it?” Neville gaped at Harry, perplexed. “She really ran me through the ringer when I came to interview.”

“I guess, yeah,” Harry supplied, still in a slight daze. He’d prepared himself to fight tooth and nail for the position. He was ready— finally, after all these years, he knew what he wanted and he was ready to go after it. To find out that he had been panicking for almost nothing felt like cramming for an exam, only to find that it was cancelled and he’d passed anyway. Now he knew how Hermione felt in their second year.

“Well, it’s great to have you Harry, really! The kids are great— the castle’s changed a lot, too, from the repairs. I can show you around—”

“Well, well, if it isn’t The Chosen One, returned to Hogwarts at last,” a voice sneered at him as they rounded the corner. 

“Oh no,” Neville breathed, “Harry, I forgot to tell you—” 

But Harry had already spotted the owner of the voice, hardly even a meter away, and boy was it familiar. 

“Malfoy?” Harry gaped intelligently.

“That’s Professor Malfoy to you,” Draco taunted. Despite the vicious grin dancing on his mouth, his grey eyes twinkled with amusement. 

“You’re a teacher here?”

“Ah, now you’re catching on, Potter. I thought our Aurors were trained in deductive reasoning, but it would seem they’ll let just any dimwit wear a badge.”

“I’m not an Auror anymore, Malfoy. I’ve just taken a teaching position here.” 

Malfoy’s eyes widened marginally with surprise, but unlike Harry he recovered quickly. “Then I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then, won’t we? Best that we move on from our,” he paused, taking a long stride forward so that he could whisper in Harry’s ear, “unfriendly past.” Draco bit his bottom lip while he gazed into Harry’s eyes, then kept walking. However, in typical Malfoy manner, he seemed incapable of shutting up. “I’m having a dinner party for the staff in my chambers tomorrow evening. I’ll expect you there at seven,” he said, “informal dress.” 

Harry stood there awkwardly, still as stone, until Draco disappeared down another corridor. “What the hell, Neville!” he hissed.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I forgot to tell you! I only just found out earlier today! He’s taken Slughorn’s position.”

“Potions?” Harry repeated rather stupidly. Today was certainly not a good day for him to grasp simple concepts.

“Sorry, Harry. But I’m sure it’ll be fine, right? I mean, he invited you to his dinner party…”

“He invited you, as well, mate.”

Neville grinned sheepishly. “Lucky for me, Ginny has a banquet tomorrow. Apparently I’m, and I quote, ‘required as arm candy’,” he said proudly, tugging smartly on the front panels of his blazer. 

Harry sighed. It was true, Neville had grown into himself over the years. It was no wonder Ginny had eventually become attracted to him after she and Harry decided to call it quits. “I hate you, you know,” he told Neville seriously.

“No you don’t,” Neville chuckled, “Now come on, let’s get down to the kitchens so we can Floo out of here. Molly’ll kill us if we’re late.”

***

“Well?” Hermione attacked Harry as soon as he stumbled out of the fireplace. He moved out of the way so that Neville could come through and began brushing off his clothes. Most of the Weasleys were there in the sitting room, waiting on an answer from him. 

“I—”

Just then Neville came bursting through the fireplace, shouting, “HARRY’S GOT THE JOB!”

The room erupted, Hermione shrieking as she rushed forward to embrace Harry. Eventually the congratulations died out, giving Harry time to search the room for the face he was yearning most to see. 

“Wotcher, Harry,” a small voice giggled at him. Harry spun around just as Teddy leapt through the air into Harry’s arms, a greeting that he’d developed shortly after learning to walk.

“Hey, buddy,” Harry said into Teddy’s tufts of bright pink hair. He’d recently learned about some of his mother’s different quirks when she was alive, and he was thrilled to take after her as much as he could. The family was more or less relieved; at least he no longer had the bright yellow eyes from last month, when he’d been mimicking his father, “The Woof”. It was endearing, of course, but more unnerving than anything, seeing how they still watched him for signs of lycanthropy.

“Do you get to teach at Hogwarts now?” the boy asked excitedly, running his hands along Harry’s stubble and giggling when it tickled his palms. 

“I sure do,” Harry told him, grunting as he shifted the boy to his hip. 

“Can I come see?”

Harry tapped the tip of his godson’s nose. “Not until you’re eleven, you know that,” Harry teased. “Come on then, who’s hungry?”

The family dinners were a lot different than they once were, Harry thought as he sat down at the table. There were so many faces that were no longer with them, replaced with new ones— new spouses, new friends, new children. He sat Teddy down between Andromeda and Victorie and took his customary seat next to Ron, smiling proudly as Teddy poured juice for his grandmother.

“Oi, what the hell is informal dress?” he whispered at Ron while passing him a dish. 

Hermione leaned over Ron, since question was more than likely meant for her. “It means wearing what one would wear in any casual situation. You’re dressed informally right now,” she said, eyeing his shirt.

“Why would you need to know—” Ron began, raising his loaded fork to his mouth, when Hermione elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Ow!” he groaned.

“Pass the carrots, Ronald,” she scolded.

Ron dropped his fork sadly and grabbed the dish from Harry, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be eating for a while yet.

***

Up in Ron’s room just like old times, Harry sat on the cramped floor with his two best friends, going over the day’s events with them. 

“We knew she’d want you there, Harry, there was never any question,” Hermione encouraged.

“I know, I was just expecting to have to put up a fight,” he said, picking at a loose thread on his pants as he told them about his meeting with McGonagall. Hermione pointed her wand casually and severed the thread, which Harry picked up sadly in his hand.

“Malfoy works there,” he said distractedly, still wrapping the thread around his finger.

“WHAT?” his friends shouted in unison. 

“This year is his first year. He’s teaching potions.”

“Oh Harry, that’s awful,” Hermione began, preparing to comfort Harry, when he interrupted her.

“He invited me to his dinner party.”

“He what?” Ron asked.

“That’s what the informal dress is about. He’s having a staff dinner in his office tomorrow night, I’ve no idea what to wear, and Neville is abandoning me to go to Ginny’s banquet.”

“What’s he done that for?!” Ron cried, horrified at the thought that Harry might have to face Malfoy alone. “I’ll tell Mum to make Ginny cancel with Nev, they’ll understand,” he said, already getting to his feet. 

Hermione grabbed at the hem of his jeans and tugged him back down. “No you will not,” she told him, “because Harry’s not going to go, are you Harry?”

“Er— yeah, I think I am,” he admitted. 

Ron and Hermione both stared at him as though he’d just told them of a secret desire to breed Blast-Ended Skrewts.

“Are you mad?” Ron asked him seriously, his eyes flicking to Hermione for help. She only shrugged, finally unable to come up with a solution to a problem.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “We’re going to be working together, and I don’t want to bring up all of that stuff from the past.”

“That’s Healer Marks talking,” Ron accused. He was referring, of course, to the counselor that Harry had been to see as part of Auror training.

“Maybe, but it still might be a good idea,” Hermione conceded slowly. “Who knows how long either of them will stay at Hogwarts— look at Dumbledore. He was there for— well—”

“Like, eleventy billion years,” Ron provided.

Hermione gave him her signature look of exasperation. “Quite the exaggeration, but yes, you’re on the right track. If he was a professor when Riddle began at Hogwarts, he was there for at least 60 years. Probably longer.”

“I don’t know if I’d want to live that long, let alone teach that long,” Ron wrinkled his nose. Harry and Hermione both ignored him. 

“I still think you should skip the dinner,” Hermione said anxiously, “but if you’re determined to go, we should at least pick out an outfit for you.”

“I thought you said that I could wear what I’m wearing right now?” Harry protested.

“First impressions are everything, Harry! I doubt Malfoy meant for you to dress that casually,” she said, indicating his grubby blue t shirt. He blushed furiously. His favorite shirt apparently wasn’t fit for public, and he’d just interviewed with McGonagall while wearing it. Excellent.

***

Harry woke in his chambers early that morning, excited to get a head start on the day. He first headed down to the Quidditch pitch for a few laps on his broom, then went back to his chambers to get started on his lesson plans. 

Harry began with the documents that McGonagall had sent to his office that morning. They outlined the previous professor’s plans, which he began to make changes on almost immediately. He noted what he wanted to cover with each class and how long he thought it would take them, then left gaps where a lesson may go on longer than estimated. At least, he figured, he could just throw in some extra practice or surprise lessons if he found he didn’t need the extra time. 

Suddenly he was woken up by a loud screeching: it was the alarm calendar that Hermione had gotten him for Christmas. He shot a spell at it to shut it up and looked at his watch— bollocks, he cursed himself. He’d fallen asleep at his desk and now he was late for Malfoy’s dinner party. He quickly threw on the button down shirt, tie, and jeans that Hermione had urged him to wear. Then, for his final last-ditch effort, he grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey that she had also demanded he bring as a gift to the host. 

Harry ran down through the castle until he finally found himself in front of what he assumed were Malfoy’s chambers. A sense of deja vu hit him when he remembered that he’d been there for dinner parties in the past; they had been Slughorn’s chambers, too.

He quietly let himself in, hoping to sneak past the guests and possibly mingle somewhere in a dark corner. Instead, he found Malfoy standing alone at the edge of the room, looking out the massive windows. Decorative gold and silver bubbles wilted sadly, falling randomly from the ceiling. 

“Am I that late?” Harry asked, checking his watch again. He had only missed the first 30 minutes of the party— where was everyone?

“Don’t act so surprised, Potter. You’re the only one that came,” Malfoy said, turning around to glare at him. “I didn’t think you’d stoop this low, telling people not to attend and then showing up to rub it in my face, but here we are.” Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Harry’s appearance. It reminded Harry that he hadn’t even bothered to comb his hair— not that it would have made much of a difference. Draco said nothing further.

“I only just got here yesterday, and I’ve been working on lesson plans all day,” Harry fibbed, skipping over the part about his impromptu nap. “How could you assume that I’ve had time to go and— what was it— sabotage your party?”

Malfoy studied him for a moment before admitting, “You surely do look unprepared for an ambush. Tell me, Potter, do you even know how to tie a tie?” he turned up his nose in disgust.

Harry blushed furiously, tugging anxiously at the tie that he’d never bothered learning to do up properly. Draco flicked his wand at the tie effortlessly, evening it out for him— an action that Harry was familiar with Hermione performing, but not Draco.

“I fell asleep at my desk— that’s why I’m late,” he disclosed, the bottle of firewhiskey hanging limply at his side. 

Pursing his lips for a moment, Draco then made his way to one of the dining table chairs and threw himself down into it dramatically. “I can’t decide which is worse: no one showing up to my dinner because they hate me that much, or having a one-on-one The Boy Who Lived,” he pondered aloud. 

Harry sat down across from him at the table and slid the firewhiskey over. “We could just drink instead,” he offered. 

Apparently Draco accepted, because just a few seconds later the whiskey had been unwrapped and uncorked. The mouth of the bottle was pressed firmly against Malfoy’s soft pink lips; he drank slowly and deeply. Something told Harry that drinking had probably been a casual ordeal in the Malfoy household.

Draco slid the bottle back to Harry, who drank just as deeply as Malfoy had but cringed at the consequences he’d deal with later. He tried not to blush self consciously as Malfoy watched him drink, failing miserably as the flush ran up his neck and to his cheeks anyway. 

“I didn’t actually expect that you’d show up,” said Draco casually, holding out his hand to receive the bottle again. 

Harry actually passed it to him this time around, leaning over the table to reach. “Surprise,” Harry said dully as he plopped back down in his seat.

Pressing on, Draco asked, “Why did you?” He drank while Harry mulled over his words.

Harry glanced down at his hands nervously. “Honestly? I was hoping we could move past our, well, past.” Draco nodded and handed the bottle back to Harry; he was starting to feel buzzed... and also hungry. He’d forgotten that he’d skipped lunch. He glanced around the table, searching for something— anything— to put in his mouth. 

Draco noticed him scanning the table and waved his hand, causing dishes to pop up in front of them. 

“You can do wandless magic?” Harry gaped, the bottle halfway to his mouth. Instead, he abandoned it and went for a platter of devilled eggs in front of him. 

“A bit,” Draco affirmed, “nothing big, though. It takes years of practice.”

“Tell me about it. I can still only summon things. It was useful for work before— like if I’d lost my wand in combat— but that’s about it.”

“Yeah, right, the Auror thing,” Draco remembered. He reached for the tongs to place a chicken leg on his own plate, then thought better of it and just grabbed it with his hand. “Potter, if you’re not going to drink my gift, pass it over,” he rolled his eyes at Harry. 

Harry did just that and kept stuffing his face, unaware that Draco was still watching him. 

“Do you ever stop eating?”

“You sound like Hermione,” Harry said, swallowing a mouthful of pasty. 

Draco snarled. “Don’t compare me to Granger.”

“Why not? She’s brilliant, and you know it. A comparison to her is hardly an insult,” he said. 

Draco frowned at his chicken leg and said nothing, taking another swig from the bottle, and then passed it back to his guest. 

Harry polished off the rest of the whiskey, noting the sloshy feeling in his stomach, and tried to stand up. All at once the alcohol hit him and he hit the floor. Instead of offering assistance, Draco chuckled at him. “Can’t hold our liquor, can we Potter?” He scoffed.

Accio Draco’s chair, Harry thought, grinning smugly as Draco’s seat flew out from under him, causing him to fall on his arse as well. Harry burst into laughter and began rolling around on the floor, unable to control himself. When he was finally able to get a grip, he looked over at Draco, whose face was also covered with the tell-tale tears of a laughing fit. 

“You prick,” Draco wheezed, who struggled to right himself with another chair’s assistance only to fall back down again. Both of them cackled and choked through another laughing fit until they were exhausted, splayed out on the floor.

After a few moments, Draco spoke. “I suppose I could thank you for coming to my dinner party,” he slurred.

“You could,” Harry agreed. He paused, then added, “I suppose I could thank you for inviting me, even though you thought I would never show up."

“You could,” Draco said. 

Laughter erupted again; they held their stomachs as they rolled around the floor, kicking at nothing. 

During a moment of calm, Draco summoned another bottle from his personal liquor cabinet. “Bottoms up, Potter,” he grinned.

***

“Ouch!” Harry muttered groggily. Something was jabbing him in the chest. He opened his eyes and found Draco kneeling over him, poking him repeatedly in the sternum with his wand.

“Get up, Potter,” he said, still poking him even though he knew very well that Harry was already awake. 

“Geroff!” Harry cried, swatting at the wand. He sat up; the room began to spin. “Oh, no,” he mumbled, and laid back down. What the hell had happened last night?

Draco was now standing over him, watching him curiously. He took a long drag from a shiny silver flask with a peacock emblazoned on it, then walked away and began rummaging in a cupboard in the corner of his office. The tables were gone, as was the decor, and everything seemed to be in the order it had been before the failed dinner party.

Something began to nudge Harry’s shoe insistently— a chair, trying to move back to where it belonged. Harry, unfortunately, was in that spot. He rolled over against his better judgement, inducing another wave of nausea, and made way for the armchair. “I’ll take some of that hangover potion you’re slugging,” he grumbled, face down on the plush oriental carpeting. He forced himself into a sitting position just as Draco chucked the flask over his shoulder, which Harry very nearly fumbled. 

“What are you looking for?”

“I—” Draco grunted, “am looking for—” a large thump echoed through the room from the cabinet, “my tea set,” he finished with a final groan. 

“Your tea set?” Harry asked, then took a great swig of potion, grimacing as it went down.

“Yes, you idiot, my tea set. I can’t remember where I’ve put it and I require tea in the mornings.” 

“You have a tea set?”

Draco scoffed. “You don’t?” He kept digging.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco and concentrated hard, silently repeating last night’s spell. Draco had just seconds to hit the floor before the tea set came flying out of the cabinet at Harry’s Summoning. 

“What the hell, Potter!” he scolded. He got to his feet; Harry had already unpacked the set on the coffee table and was pouring tea for two from the kettle that had been hanging in the fireplace. “I don’t remember inviting you to tea,” he scowled. 

“I don’t remember falling asleep on your floor,” Harry told him, “but here we are.”

Draco sighed resignedly and sat opposite Harry in the other armchair. He began to fix his tea, summoning the cream from his refrigerator. Harry simply began drinking, sighing as the warm liquid hit his gut.

“You don’t take milk and sugar?” Draco cried in very real outrage at the sight of Harry sipping a cup of very black, very unsweetened tea. 

Harry shrugged. “Just used to it, I guess,” he said in between sips.

“Why on earth would you ever want to get used to it?”

“It’s not like I woke up one day and decided ‘I’m not going to take milk and sugar in my tea, just to annoy Malfoy.’ It’s just how I was brought up drinking it.”

“I don’t understand what kind of family deprives themselves of sugar and milk in their tea.”

Harry hesitated. “Not all of them, just me,” he said. 

Draco paused with his cup halfway to his mouth and nearly dropped the saucer out of his other hand. “They wouldn’t let you fix your tea?”

“Er— well— no, not really.” Long past the abuse he suffered at the hands of The Dursleys, Harry wasn’t at all perturbed by this information. Sure, it bothered him sometimes, but he had suffered far worse things in his life than being brought up by those monsters. 

“Has anyone ever told you that your life is pathetically tragic?”

Harry smirked, and took a sip of tea. “It may have been mentioned once or twice.”

They were both silent for a very long time.

“Have you ever thought to try it?” Draco eventually asked, though Harry was so lost in thought that it took him a moment to remember what the topic of their conversation was.

“Try what?”

Draco scowled. “Cream and sugar in your tea,” he said, trying very hard to be patient. 

“Er… No?”

Draco all but shoved his cup in Harry’s hands. “Try it now,” he said urgently, almost wildly. 

Harry raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and took a sip. Then another. And another. He smiled wider after every one. “That’s incredible,” he said, grinning. He set the cup down in front of Draco again, but the silence between them was now becoming awkward. Strangely enough this was the third drink that they’d shared with one another in a span of just a few hours— something they never would have done in the past. Harry sat there for a moment while Draco stared off into space. “I should get going…” he trailed off, “thanks for… er… not killing me in my sleep, I guess.”

“And for the tea,” Draco said absently, still staring off.

“Yeah, that too,” Harry added, and headed for the door.

“Potter,” Draco said quietly.

Harry paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for showing up.”

Harry, ever the way with words, stammered, “You too,” and all but flew out the door.

In the hall, he leaned against the cool wall and removed his glasses with one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. You too, he recalled embarrassedly, then decided that he should never be allowed to speak again. 

***

A few weeks into the school year, things were going alright. Once his students had gotten over the star factor of their professor, they really began to respect Harry and his skill as a teacher. Even his fellow professors showed him the same respect that they would any other older, seasoned teacher. 

It was strange, though, seeing the older students in action. He was their age just a few years ago, the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

So much had changed in his life. The war ended; they all dealt with loss. He was rewarded greatly by The Ministry with needless amounts of gold; useless plaques that sat in a dusty box in Grimmauld Place. He’d moved into The Burrow and began Auror training, along with which came counseling at Kingsley’s request. Harry had worked through a lot in that time, and it seemed that he was finally making some headway in his life.

He was satisfied— happy, even. Teaching seemed to scratch an itch that he couldn’t reach otherwise, and being back at Hogwarts felt like coming home after a long trip. He now fondly remembered the day that he came in to interview with McGonagall and laughed. Hogwarts was still his home, he’d just needed some help remembering. 

“Potter,” a voice muttered to him one Friday morning at breakfast. Harry glanced up— of course it was Malfoy.

“Morning, Malfoy,” he said through a mouth full of sausage, “wassup?”

“I’ve, um, I’ve got an issue in my office that could use your attention.”

Harry stopped chewing abruptly and swallowed, gagging on a stray bit of un-chewed food. “My attention?” he rasped, his eyes watering. He grabbed the nearest drink— pumpkin juice— and began chugging to clear his throat.

“Yes. Could you stop by today, perhaps at first break, please?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you need,” Harry said. Having finished his drink completely, he reached for more. 

Draco simply nodded and took his own place at the head table, where he began to quietly pick at his food.

***

The rest of breakfast was, frankly, uneventful. The rest of the professors and students wandered off to their classes and Harry put his embarrassing choking fit out of his mind. After all, it was just Malfoy— why should he be so distressed?

His last class before first break went just as well as his others had, save for one student who stayed after class to ask Harry for some extra help. He almost told the student to come back tomorrow— that he had a previous appointment to get to— then thought better of it. His students came first; surely Malfoy would understand. 

But when Malfoy didn’t make it down to lunch later in the day, Harry became concerned. He excused himself and headed toward the dungeons. 

“Enter,” Malfoy called from his classroom when Harry knocked. He was sitting at the front of the room at his desk, looking exhausted. He didn’t look up from the papers he was grading.

“What’s up?” Harry asked lightly. 

“You were supposed to come by at first break,” was all he said. 

“Yeah, sorry, I got caught up. A student—”

“You were supposed to come by at first break,” Draco repeated firmly. He finally looked up at Harry, who noticed at once that Draco’s eyes were red-rimmed; he looked awful.

“Malfoy, what’s going on? I’m sorry I didn’t make it, it didn’t seem urgent this morning—”

“What part of me coming to you didn’t read as urgent, Potter?” Draco hissed, his voice raising a few octaves.

“I—” Harry stuttered. He was right. Draco never came to Harry for anything; how had he forgotten that they weren’t friends? “What is it?” he asked again.

“My office,” Draco said plainly. 

“Show me.”

Draco’s eyes widened; the high backed chair he sat in seemed to tower over him. “I can’t,” he admitted. “I haven’t been able to go in there all day.” 

“Oh,” Harry began to understand, “it’s a Boggart, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said, then left for the office. A few minutes later he came back with a small box in tow. 

“It’s gone,” he said, indicating the box, which was rattling slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by earlier— if I had known it was urgent, I would have come sooner.”

Draco look palely at the box. “I— thanks, Potter,” was all he could say. 

Harry nodded, yet again incredibly ashamed in front of Malfoy— this time because he’d let him down. 

As he made his way back to his office, he wondered vaguely what Malfoy was afraid of most. 

***

When Harry woke up the next morning he wandered into his chambers in search of a bite to eat. Instead he found rather large package on his desk, wrapped in brown paper and delicate twine.

Trained to never trust an unexpected package, Harry was immediately suspicious. He performed a number of spells on it before finally deeming it safe to open, then— still cautiously— removed the outer wrappings. 

It was a tea set— finer than any china he’d ever seen. It came with no note, but of course he knew who it was from. How could he not?

He smiled gratefully at the gift and pulled out a bit of parchment. 

Malfoy, he wrote,

I was wondering if you’d like to join me for tea today? I’ve got this lovely new china, you see. I’ll put the kettle on around noon.

Potter

***

To Harry's great surprise, there was a knock at the door promptly at noon.

“I didn’t know if you would show up,” Harry admitted.

Draco shrugged. “Well, I hear you have this fabulous tea set and no one to share it with. It would be a crime not to indulge you.”

Harry set the hot kettle on his coffee table and began rummaging through his cupboard for a box of biscuits.

Clearly a little more used to a more upscale life, Draco eyed Harry as searched. “Are you quite sure you’re prepared for guests?”

Harry rolled his eyes at him. “Pour the tea, will you, and shut up.”

“Someone’s testy today,” Draco said, nevertheless pouring the tea. “Black, Potter?”

“Er— no. Fix it like you would yours?” Harry said shyly. 

Draco said nothing and continued to fix the tea while Harry threw biscuits on a plate, cursing himself for not being more domesticated. At least he’d tidied the place up a bit and combed his hair this time.

He placed the plate on the table in front of them and sat down. 

“So— er— how are you?”

Draco snorted. “You’re a fantastic conversationalist, Potter, has anyone ever told you?” he remarked, his words practically dripping with sarcasm. 

“Er—” Harry stammered again.

Draco seemed to take pity on him and took matters into his own hands. “So— Boggarts. How’d you get so comfortable with them? 

Harry took a sip of his tea, relishing the milky sweetness just as he had last time, and set it down again. He’d tried making his own tea like Malfoy had, but it hadn’t tasted quite the same. His ratios were definitely off; he made a mental note to watch Draco next time.

“Auror training,” Harry explained. “It’s sort of like exposure therapy. We train with Boggarts, sometimes several at once, so that we can face our worst fears and come to terms with them. After a while, you sort of become numb to them.”

“So, what, you’re fearless now?”

“No, not at all,” Harry said, blushing.

“Then what is it you’re afraid of?”

Harry blushed further. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said. That shut Draco up quickly enough, for which Harry was glad. He certainly didn’t feel like sharing his Boggart with Malfoy. “Thanks for the tea set,” he said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Malfoy denied, “but if someone were to give you a rather extravagant gift in thanks for doing them a favor, then that someone must appreciate that favor very much.”

Harry chuckled. “If I were to receive a rather extravagant gift in thanks for doing someone a favor,” he said, “I would tell the person who gave the gift that it was no problem at all, and I’m happy to help.”

Draco stopped in the act of dunking his biscuit in his tea. “Are you?” he pondered aloud.

“Am I what?”

“Happy to help?” Draco said, then took a bite of his almost-too-soggy biscuit. Harry’s face must have shown quite a bit of confusion, because Draco then added “Me, Potter, are you truly happy to help me?”

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Draco looked at him incredulously. “We don’t have the most friendly history, or are you forgetting all of the stalking and attempts at life ruining that we did while we were in school?”

“Oh, that— It’s fine,” Harry told him. 

“Fine? It’s fine? What do you mean it’s fine? It is not fine!” Draco cried in outrage, dropping his soggy biscuit on the plate.

“Wha—” 

“How can you just say things are fine between us? When you started here this year I was sure you were going to try to get me fired, but you didn’t pay me any mind. Then you were the only one to show up to my dinner party, and even though everyone else seems to have mostly stopped treating me like a pariah, you’re still the only person in this school who has invited me to tea. Even after treating you like crap for not coming to my pathetic rescue in time,” he added. “What’s your deal, Potter?” He said all of this while pacing back and forth between the sofa and the coffee table, hands gesturing wildly in front of him.

“I’m over it,” Harry said simply.

Draco threw himself down into the chair dramatically once again— as was his custom, apparently. “I just don’t understand,” he whined. 

Harry sat back in his chair comfortably and crossed his legs. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Malfoy. All that stuff’s over.”

“But it’s not over, Potter, you still keep coming back for more even though I’m horrible to you.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You GUESS?” Draco moaned. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I grew up!” Harry cried. “I’ve been through far worse than your taunts, and in the end it never really matters, does it? You’ll always be a prat! A pompous, pure-blood prince with nothing better to do than spend his daddy’s money on expensive gifts and be a pain in everyone's arse.”

Draco glared at him angrily. “First of all, I remember saving your arse in a pretty big way once, and second, I do not blow my daddy’s money,” he spat. “I bought this china with my own earnings. Don’t you read, Potter?”

“What?” Harry was truly astounded now, still trying to grasp why Draco was shouting at him in the first place.

“My father pulled my access to the Malfoy money— that’s why I begged McGonagall for this job,” he explained. “My mother tried to convince him at first, but he won’t budge. He thinks that I can’t make it on my own— or that I don’t want to, at least— and that withholding the family fortune from me will make me ‘see reason’.”

“What on earth would he do that for? Your parents love you… in their own way, I’m sure,” he added. 

“Yeah, they do,” Draco sighed, “but they don’t really… understand me anymore.”

“I’m not following,” Harry admitted. Now that the conversation had shifted away from shouting, he felt comfortable stuffing his face with a few biscuits. Unfortunately for Harry’s growling stomach, Draco did not drone on for very long.

“I’ve chosen a lifestyle that does not suit the Malfoy name,” was all he said. 

Harry began chewing furiously, making sure to do a good job before he tried to swallow this time, in order to avoid another choking mishap. “Merlin, Malfoy, just spit it out, I’m not a bloody mind-reader.”

Draco sighed, again dramatically. “I’ve refused to marry the type of person they want me to, and they’re not happy about it.”

“That’s dumb,” Harry blurted, “I mean, you’re young, you shouldn’t have to marry now or, well, ever, if you don’t want to. You especially shouldn’t have to marry someone you don’t like.”

“They see it differently.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“You should have your head checked,” Malfoy told him. “Don’t you know anything about pure-blood families?”

“Outside of The Weasleys— who, according to your father, have no business being pure-blood because they don’t behave like it— no. I was raised by Muggles, remember?”

Draco took a deep breath through his nose. “No wonder you’re acting like a moron. Heirs, Potter, pure-blood families need an heir.”

“Well, that’s… I mean… You don’t have to be married to have kids… Unless you don’t want them?” Harry tried.

“That’s true,” Draco said, partially giving up on the conversation, “And I do— want kids, I mean.”

“I still don’t see the problem. Just wait, don’t bother with marriage. Then have kids with someone you can at least tolerate,” he paused, “unless there’s another issue? If you’re— er— well, y’know, barren?” Harry braced himself for the awkwardness and outburst; Draco did not disappoint.

“What? I— Potter, I— I am most certainly not barren! I’m sure I could produce a fine heir!” Draco yelped, completely scandalized.

“Alright, alright!” Harry conceded, holding his hands in front of him in defeat. “I’m just saying, you could always adopt…” 

“I AM NOT BARREN, POTTER!” Malfoy roared, becoming more infuriated by the minute, “I’M GAY!”

Harry was taken aback, completely caught off guard. “Gay?”

Malfoy hissed, “Merlin, surely you know what it means to be gay, or are you truly that daft?” 

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean— of course I know what it means to be gay. I just don't see what the big deal is.”

It was Draco’s turn to look surprised. “You don’t?”

“No, of course not. I mean, isn't everyone a little gay?”

Draco’s face melted into a look of utter fascination and confusion. “No, Potter, not everyone is ‘a little gay’.”

“Oh,” said Harry, defeated. 

“What— did you think that every person on the planet had feelings for both men and women?”

“Er— well— yeah, I guess,” said Harry. All of a sudden he didn't feel quite so confident anymore; in fact, he felt quite stupid, and ashamed.

Much more gently this time— or as gentle as Malfoy could possibly be— Draco asked, “Is that how you feel?”

Harry took a sip of his cooling tea and ignored the question. 

“Your family sure did a number on you,” Malfoy said. He leaned back in his chair and took a biscuit for himself, munching on it casually. 

“Yeah, well, they weren't a very good family to begin with,” Harry muttered, breaking his silence.

“So I'm beginning to see.”

“I didn't know… I mean, I've always just thought that it was okay…”

“No!” Draco cried frantically, “Don't stop thinking that. It is okay. Some people just don't see it that way— and they're idiots. There's nothing wrong with being gay, or even a little bit gay, or a whole lot of gay.”

“But you just said—”

“That’s my father, Potter, and to be honest he couldn't care less if I was gay or not. It's the family fortune and the family name he’s focused on, like always. I can’t have a child out of wedlock and I can’t come out publicly. Both scenarios mean that I’m cut out, and since those are my only options because I refuse to marry a woman, my father has decided to cut me out early.”

“Then adopt. Or become someone’s godfather,” Harry told him. “I was able to inherit the Black family fortune from Sirius because he was my godfather. By the same laws, Teddy would inherit from me if something were to happen,” Harry explained. 

“I didn’t know you had a godson,” Draco said quietly.

“Yeah, he’s your cousin,” Harry said, pulling out a photo of Teddy from his wallet. It was a little outdated; Teddy had grown some. In the photograph he was pulling faces— some that weren’t his own— at the camera, his hair flickering from color to color like twinkling fairy lights. It was Harry’s favorite photo. “He’s Andromeda’s grandson— Lupin and Tonks’s son,” Harry told Draco, the pride he felt beaming from his face.

Draco stared at the photo almost longingly, and Harry’s heart panged for him. It was so clear that Draco did want a family, and his father’s decision to remove him from the family fortune was just a big slap in a face. It was just a constant reminder that Draco could have a family eventually, but would still be cut off if he came out as gay.

“That would be a good solution,” Draco agreed,”if only I still had one single person in my life who would ever potentially make me a godfather.” He handed the photo back to Harry with one last glance at the face of the cousin he had never met.

Harry frowned. “What about your friends? Parkinson? Zabini? Nott?”

“They all left London after the war. They didn't have property to attend to like my family does. They just had their family fortunes. Pansy lives in France now, and I have no idea where the other two went. We haven't spoken in years.”

Harry couldn't imagine losing Ron and Hermione— just the thought of if made his heart ache. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, we can be friends.”

Draco scowled. “I don't want your pity friendship, Potter.”

Harry laughed. “Friends have tea, Malfoy,” he pointed out, glancing down at the table, “friends do each other favors. And give each other gifts.”

“So do colleagues.”

“‘Colleagues’ is just one step away from friends,” he raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. 

Draco contemplated the offer. “I'm not going to stop being— what was it?— oh yes, a pompous, pure-blood prat. My, how eloquent you are,” he glowered.

“I know, and I've accepted that.”

“And I assume you have no intention of changing your goody-goody, Gryffindor ways?”

“There’s more to life than a Hogwarts house, Malfoy.”

“Hardly.”

Harry hesitated for a moment. “Well?” he eventually pressed. 

“I’m thinking, you idiot!”

“You're going to have to start thinking of some better insults if we're going to be friends, Malfoy.”

“Challenge accepted, Harry.” Draco countered. His decision was clear. 

Harry mockingly shot him a look of annoyance. “Well, Draco, my friend, I’m a little more hungry than biscuits and tea can deal with. Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“I thought you’d never ask; your biscuits are atrocious, Potter.”

“That’s because they aren’t mine,” Harry chuckled quietly. 

Draco yelped, “What?”

“Yeah, they were here when I took this office. They’re probably still good though, right?” he said leading the way out of his chambers. Behind him, he could hear Draco gagging and then chugging his tea in an attempt to ward off potential food poisoning. 

Of course, Harry had brought the biscuits with him, but his new biscuit-insulting friend didn't need to know that. 

***

“So, how are your classes going?” Harry asked one morning as he and Draco strolled through Hogsmeade. As much as they both loved the castle with its quirks and tricks and magic, it seemed that Hogsmeade was slowly becoming their place. In fact, they both usually volunteered to chaperone on student trips, even though it was never a requirement. 

They passed The Hogs Head; Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and wheeled them around and into the dark warmth of the dusty old bar. Nothing about it had changed, except that Aberforth had finally hired some help, grumbling that he was “Too old for this bollocks.”

Draco steered them to their favorite table in the corner sat Harry down, then made for the bar. He came back with two steaming butterbeers and a bowl full of peanuts.

“Well? Your classes?” Harry repeated. He wasn’t going to let it go— Draco had a habit of completely ignoring the question when he didn’t want to talk.

“Fine— they’re fine, okay? You know, you’re so damn nosy, that they should just give you an honorary place at The Prophet, you’d have made an excellent journalist.”

“Why just fine?” Harry pried some more.

Draco’s tone got a little gentler— for Draco, that is. “Harry,” he said, which was his custom when he was trying to convey something serious, “truly, my classes are fine. The students have finally stopped being frightened of the big bad Death Eater, and I think I’ve finally got the hang of the points system. They’re all doing well in class, too, so I must be doing something right.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing that should concern you, Potter,” Draco sneered. 

“It concerns me if it’s about you— y’know, my friend?”

Draco hesitated, taking a sip of his butterbeer and clutching the mug tightly as he set it down on the hard wooden tabletop. “I got an owl from my mother this morning,” he said. “She’s begging me to reconsider my ‘choices’.”

Harry tried not to bristle at Draco’s treatment at the hand of his parents. “I still don’t understand them. I know you love them, Draco, but they’re hurting you.”

“The rules are really very clear, Potter. Marry a woman, have a child, gain permanent access to the family riches. That’s the way it works.”

“Even if you did marry, you’re in no position in life to be a parent right now.”

“Are you doubting my skills as a potential caregiver?”

“No, not at all. You’re a prick, but you would never deny a child care. I’m saying— I’m the only friend you’ve got, and I haven’t got any children to offer up as godchildren. Plus you just started at Hogwarts; are you really going to tell me that you would be willing to give that up? I doubt your parents would be thrilled if you kept a job.”

“There’s no need to rub it in,” Draco sneered. 

“I’m not, I’m just pointing out the facts that I wish your parents could see,” Harry told him, then a thought occurred to him. “Hey,” he said, checking the time, “you know what? I’ll be right back.”

Draco watched as Harry went up to the bar, whispered something to Aberforth— who went into the back room— and returned to his seat. He began chugging his butterbeer while searching his pockets, eventually throwing a few coins on the table.

“What are we doing?” Draco said, trying to quickly finish up his own drink at Harry’s cue.

“We’re going on a trip,” Harry said. “Come on, Ab says we can apparate out back so we don’t get caught shirking our chaperone duties.”

“We don’t have any chaperone duties, Potter.”

Harry ignored him as he grabbed a warm, pale hand from Draco’s side and pulled him toward the back alley, then apparated them away.

***

“Merlin’s beard,” Draco shouted, clutching his side and stumbling as they landed on the dirt road. “First of all, you’re supposed to warn a person when you take them side-along, and second, why do you apparate so poorly? Do you even have a license?” He took in Harry’s sly expression and connected the dots. “You don’t, do you? Oh,” he cried tragically, “I’m travelling with a delinquent.” 

“Sod off, Malfoy. I’ve been apparating just as long as you have, and Kingsley gave me a license.”

Malfoy snorted. “Another Boy Who Lived perk— skipping through your official exams and putting the well being and safety of your friends at risk.”

“Shut up,” Harry said, and kept walking down the dirt road to a small cottage in the distance. 

Draco chased after him, not wanting to be left alone on a foreign dirt road. “Where are we going?” he demanded. 

“You’ll see.”

They walked for several minutes until they finally reached the cottage. Harry unlatched the gate and let himself in; Draco followed, securing the gate behind him. When Harry got closer to the open back door, he took a deep breath and shouted “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?”

“Roarrrrrr!!!” came a scream from the house, and a tiny human with a face covered in hair and bright yellow eyes came bounding out of the door, leaping into Harry’s arms. “Hi, Harry,” he said. The two of them giggled as they hugged and a woman with dark eyes and wild, kinky hair came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. 

All of this was too much for Draco who, as far as he could tell, was in the presence of a tiny werewolf and his very-much-dead aunt. “What the hell is going on, Harry?” he muttered, backing away slowly. 

“Language,” Harry hissed at him, they turned to Draco with Teddy still in his arms. “Teddy,” he said. The boy turned toward Draco, his features morphing back into the soft, plump features of a little boy with bright pink hair. “This is Draco.”

“Hello,” Teddy giggled, “You’re very white.”

Harry laughed. “You mean pale, buddy. Draco,” he said, redirecting his attention, “this is my godson, Teddy. And this is his grandmother, your aunt, Andromeda.”

The situation was unnerving for Draco, who could now see that the little boy was not, in fact, a werewolf. He was something Draco had only ever read about: a Metamorphmagus. And the soft features of the woman standing before him were not those of his dead Auntie Bella, but those of the aunt he’d never met before.

“You must be Draco,” she said softly, holding out her hand apprehensively.

He took it gently and gave it a small shake. “It’s nice to meet you both,” he said shyly.

Harry turned toward her. “D’you mind if we come in, ‘Dromeda?”

“Not at all,” she said, “I was just finishing up lunch when Ab popped into the floo.”

Draco looked back and forth between the three of them. “We could have flooed?” he hissed.

Harry smirked and ignored him. “Well, come on then,” he said, ushering them all inside with Teddy still in his arms.

Draco gave him a look of alarm but followed anyway.

***

“So what brings you by, dear?” Andromeda prompted, fixing them all plates of steak and kidney pie. There were four plates on the counter— apparently Aberforth had told her that Harry was bringing a guest along. Draco wondered vaguely if she knew who the guest was in advance. 

“Well,” Harry said, immediately digging in. The little boy next to him followed his lead and began wolfing down his own lunch. 

Draco, not wanting to be rude, took small bites as well, not wanting to be caught off guard with his mouth stuffed with food.

Harry went on, his mouth partially full. He always ate like his food could be taken away at any minute, and like he never expected anyone to speak to him while he was eating. It broke Draco’s heart when he asked about it one day and Harry told him about his aunt and uncle. “I was wondering if you could have a chat with Draco.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up but he said nothing, wondering where this was going.

“He’s chosen freedom over fortune,” Harry explained.

Andromeda nodded understandingly. “It’s difficult,” she said, setting her own fork down, “when your family doesn’t agree with your choices. And it’s frightening to think that you’ll never speak with them again, no matter what they’ve done.”

Draco had only heard bits and pieces about his aunt— for the most part, his family had always pretended that she didn’t exist. But he’d grown up with the tapestry of their family tree in his home, and he knew that she’d been ostracised from The Blacks. 

“You married the muggle born,” he said factually. 

“Yes. Your grandparents weren’t pleased with me, to say the least, and my sisters went along with anything they said. Your mother and I were very close when we were young; it was hard to let it all go.”

“What changed?” he asked. Draco barely heard Harry and Teddy giggling beside him, making faces on their plates with their food.

“Oh, mind over matter, I suppose,” she sighed. “I knew that I was making the right choice for me, and I had to get over it if I ever wanted to be happy.”

Draco was having a hard time grasping the idea. “How?”

“I had your uncle, Ted,” she smiled fondly, remembering him.

“You make it all sound so easy,” Draco whispered.

“That’s because it is— now, I mean, after all these years. It’s not at first— especially being cut from the fortune. I’m quite happy with my life now, but I have to be honest, things weren’t so smooth in the beginning. I had to work hard alongside my husband to make ends meet. But in the end, you’ll find you don’t need the money.”

Just a few minutes into the conversation, both Harry and Teddy had finished their lunch and were running around the backyard. Draco and Andromeda were left to their own devices.

Draco glanced out the window and saw Harry swinging with his godson on the swingset. “Harry’s really good with him,” Draco observed. 

“Yes, he is,” Andromeda agreed, though she was watching Draco instead. “I get the feeling that you haven’t been shunned for your love of muggle borns.”

Draco frowned, and resisted a snide remark to the woman he’d just met. She had no reason to show him any sort of kindness— yet she did anyway. “You’re not wrong,” he murmured.

She simply patted his hand on top of the table. 

“I’m sure you’ll find that, one day, the fortune won’t matter. And if ever your parents change their minds,” she said, admiring how he watched Teddy, “you may find that you don’t want it after all.”

***

“So you and Malfoy?” Neville bellowed; Harry was helping him with class prep. His second years were doing Mandrakes and Harry was helping Neville re-pot them from seedlings. Little though they were, a few of the larger ones could still knock either of them out— hence the earmuffs.

“He’s not so bad,” Harry shouted back, flushing slightly. “We have a lot more in common than people think.”

Neville raised an eyebrow at him. “Like what?”

Harry struggled for a moment. “We’re both professors,” he hollered, placing the last Mandrake in its pot, “and we take our tea the same way!” 

“There’s no need to yell, mate,” Neville said with a cheeky grin, removing his earmuffs.

“I don’t understand why the school lets you grow these screaming turnips anyway. They’re dangerous,” Harry said as he removed his own protective gear.

“Says the guy who played seeker for a school that could have killed you. Let’s see: you broke your arm, almost choked to death, got numerous concussions and at least one broken nose— but hey, who’s counting?”

“Touché,” Harry snickered.

“Anyway, that’s not a whole lot that you have in common with Malfoy.”

Harry didn’t feel a need to tell Neville about his and Draco’s shared preferences when it came to partners. In fact, it was something they rarely talked about. It was just a small fact about them that didn’t really seem to matter in the day-to-day.

He had never told anyone, in fact, besides Ginny. It had never bothered her, and he’d seen no reason to tell anyone else. The subject simply never came up— his love life was as void as… well… his love life. 

It crossed his mind for a moment that Neville may already know… but surely Ginny wouldn’t have shared that with anyone. She knew how private he was about his personal live. 

“I’m just saying,” said Neville, “how well do you know the guy?”

Harry considered this for a moment. They talked in depth about their home lives, their past, and the day-to-day. To some, it would probably seem like the two of them would have a hard time finding common ground. However, they worked well as friends despite the fact that they had so little common ground; it made for interesting conversation.

“Actually, I think I know him pretty well.”

“Sure, Harry,” Neville said, reverting back to his old, unconfident self for a moment. He’d made leaps and bounds with his self esteem, but he did sometimes grow quiet, as though his opinions weren’t worth sharing.

“Come on, Nev, don’t do that— spit it out. It’s just me.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just— anyway I mean… Have you told the others yet? Ron and Hermione?”

“About what?”

“That you’ve become friends with Malfoy.”

“Er— no, not yet,” he admitted. He owled them frequently and visited The Burrow every Sunday, but he still hadn’t found a way to broach the subject. “I’ll get around to it,” he said.

“You’ve just got to rip the bandage off, mate. It’s what I had to do with you when I started seeing Ginny,” Neville admitted sheepishly. He seemed to live with the constant anxiety that some day Harry would get upset with him for dating his ex.

“You know I’m fine with it, Nev. Ginny and I ended things on good terms, and you both deserve to be happy. Besides, Draco isn’t Ginny. We’re only friends, and if anything Ron and Hermione would be wary of him, not upset with me.”

“That’s fair,” agreed Neville. “Hey— I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you bring him to The Burrow tomorrow?”

“Are you mad?” asked Harry incredulously. “You want me to bring Malfoy home to The Weasleys? They wouldn’t let us in the front door!” The flush returned and crept further up his neck than before. The thought of showing up to The Burrow with Malfoy in tow...

“Bandage, Harry,” Neville reminded him.

Harry sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I’ll think about it.”

Neville clapped Harry on the back with a soil-caked glove. “Whoops, sorry mate,” he laughed, failing to brush the dirt off of Harry’s shoulder, “How about we head up to the castle? Lunch should be starting soon.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Harry agreed, removing his gloves and pulling out his wand to clean his shirt. “I’ve got a craving for turnips.”

Harry stifled a laugh as he ignored the glares from Neville during their walk back to the castle.

***

Harry stood at Hagrid’s front door shortly after lunch, knocking loudly.

“Alrigh’, alright’, I’m comin’!” Hagrid flung the door open, very nearly knocking Harry off of the stoop.

“Harry!” he cried, snatching the front of Harry’s shirt with an enormous, trash-bin sized hand to keep him from falling. Hagrid righted him and invited him inside eagerly, setting the bucket of raw meat that he’d been holding to the side and shooing Fang away from it.

“Hey, Hagrid,” Harry grinned, taking a seat at the huge dining table. Immediately Fang abandoned the bucket of meat and came bounding up to him, slower in his old age but still keen for a head scratch. Hagrid put the kettle on and sat down at his oversized chair with a loud creak.

“Wha’ brings yeh by? I’ve been meanin’ to stop by yer office, but I’ve had me hands full o’ me new creatures. We’re studyin’ Clabberts,” he told Harry joyfully.

“Er— that sounds interesting,” Harry obliged, searching for something to do with his hands so that he could fidgit. 

“Summat’ on yer mind, Harry?” Hagrid asked, sensing that he was distracted. 

“Well, yeah, actually, I came to ask you something,” he admitted. “Hagrid, you’re one of the most loving, forgiving people I’ve ever known and—”

“An’ yer here ter ask me what I think abou’ you an’ Malfoy becoming buddies,” Hagrid finished.

“Well… Yeah. Wait, how’d you know?” 

Hagrid rose to pour tea for the two of them and handed Harry a mug the size of a small bucket, then sat down with another loud creak. 

“Well?” Harry prodded.

“Hold yer horses, I’m gettin’ there,” Hagrid took a sip of his tea and carried on. “I think tha’ boy suffered a great deal at the hands o’ his idiot parents, an’ he’s learnin’.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m not done!” Hagrid protested, then went on. “I don’ think parts of him will ever change, but parts of him already have,” he said gently, “and ‘e seems to like you.”

“Like me?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, “ye’ think ‘e could spend hours a day with someone ‘e couldn’t stand ter be aroun’? 

“I’m not sayin’ he’s a saint, I’m jus’ sayin’ that ev’ryone deserves a second chance sometimes, an’ you’ve given ‘im that. It’s real good o’ you, Harry.”

“I’m just worried about what people will think. I haven’t really told anyone yet,” Harry confided. 

“Ye’ mean Ron an’ Hermione.”

“Yeah.”

“An’ anyone outside o’ the castle.”

“Ye— what?”

“Wha’, do ye’ think people are suddenly blind? Ev’ryone in the castle knows the two o’ you are pals now, an’ none of ‘em seem to mind it. I know I don’.”

Harry smiled warmly, thankful he could always count on Hagrid for an honest, unbiased opinion. “Thanks, Hagrid,” he said.

“Don’ mention it. Now, go on an’ head back up to the castle— I’ve got a lot o’ work ter do with these Clabberts. And here,” he said, reaching behind him, “take some o’ these rock cakes with ye’. Share ‘em with Longbottom— maybe they’ll remind him o’ where I live,” Hagrid said pointedly. “Ever since ‘e accidentally let ‘is venomous tentacula loose and it got one o’ me chickens, ‘e’s been afraid to come by.”

“I’ll give him the message,” Harry grinned. 

***

“So, Hogsmeade today? You’ve got a few hours before you go to The Burrow,” Draco said to Harry over tea; they were in Draco’s chambers today. 

“Actually, I wanted to stop by early today to speak with Hermione and Ron,” he said, eyeing the pumpkins that Draco had decorated his mantle with. They looked familiar.

“Oh?” said Draco, setting his cup and saucer down. 

“Yeah,” said Harry, “I just haven’t had a whole lot of time to talk with them while everyone’s there. I'm always stuck chasing after Teddy and listening to Molly rag on about my hair.”

It was true, his hair was getting longer, but he liked it that way— it seemed to make his hair lie more flat, making it easier to manage. 

Draco, too, seemed to appreciate it as he ran his eyes up and down Harry’s appearance. “It is an utter mess,” he said.

“No it’s not,” Harry protested, knowing that Malfoy was only trying to mess with him, though he flushed as Draco looked him up and down.

“Fine,” Draco sighed, “it suits you,” he admitted. 

Malfoy’s approval of his hair made him want to grin quite widely. Instead, Harry suppressed the urge and looked away. “Anyway, I was going to head over there around three.”

Draco’s brow furrowed, “That’s only in an hour,” he protested. “You’re ruining our Sunday routine.”

“It’s just this once, trust me,” Harry attempted to smooth over the situation. Draco despised it when their plans were interrupted. If he was honest, Harry hated it too.

“I don’t see what you need to say to those two that you can’t simply owl them about,” he scowled. 

Harry grinned at Draco’s… frustration? Jealousy? Both made him incredibly… something. It felt like flying a broom.

“How about I make it up to you? I’ll tell Molly I’ll have to miss dinner next weekend— we can spend the entire day in Hogsmeade.”

Draco contemplated whether or not he was going to let Harry off the hook, when Harry added:

“I’ll buy you a box of those chocolates you like from Honeydukes,” he tempted.

Draco raised a curious eyebrow. “The ones filled with the different flavors of creme?”

“The very same,” Harry assured him.

Draco gave in with a very theatrical groan. “Fine,” he conceded, “but you’re also paying for lunch.”

“Done.”

“And if I happen to find a new book I fancy in Tomes and Scrolls?”

Harry laughed, and stuck his hand out across the coffee table. “Deal.”

Draco shook his hand, rubbing his fingers together when they parted as though Harry had deposited something sticky onto his skin. “You’ve gotten off easy, you know,” Draco told him very seriously.

“Don’t I ever,” Harry agreed.

***

The Burrow was quiet when he arrived, save for Molly bustling into the sitting room, wielding a frying pan, her wand still in her apron pocket. Her expression went from defensive to doting in the blink of an eye, and suddenly she was hugging Hary with fervor. He could feel the frying pan lying heavily against his back and her wand stabbing him in the gut.

“Hey, Mum,” he said. They both smiled affectionately at the term— something he’d picked up a few years back. Not a single person who’d ever heard him say it minded one bit. 

“Harry, dear, you should have owled— I could have killed you!” she beamed. 

“I only decided this morning that I was going to drop by early, I was hoping to have some quiet time with you guys before everyone came over.”

Molly knew immediately what he meant— he needed his best friends. “They’re in the garden,” she told him with a sly grin, then whispered “Hermione spent the night last night, but they think I don’t know.”

He whispered back, amused by their gossiping like two old hens, “Do you think that means—?”

Molly squealed excitedly. “They do seem to be moving back in that direction— oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if they got back together? Now go on, then, to the garden with you,” she shooed Harry out the back door with a kiss on the cheek. 

***

“Hey,” Harry greeted the two of them. They were sitting together on the old wooden bench swing, Ron’s arm slung over the top of the seat back. 

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, jumping up to hug him. Ron followed a bit more slowly and embraced his best friend.

“You’re so early!” Hermione observed. Her expression was curious; she could sense from his unplanned arrival that something was up, and Harry knew it. 

The two of them sat back down on the swing, Ron’s arm around Hermione again, and Harry dragged over one of the lawn chairs from behind the shed.

“So, you two— what’s that about?”

Hermione smiled shyly, a rarity for her, and looked tenderly at Ron. “We’re trying things out again— seeing where it goes.”

“Quietly,” Ron added, “we’re not telling anyone yet. Well, aside from you, of course.”

“I hate to break it to you, mate, but everyone already knows,” Harry told him, “Well, your mum does, at least. She told me that Hermione stayed over last night.”

Ron’s face paled. “She’s going to skin me alive!” Ron whimpered. 

“Actually, I think she’s thrilled. I bet she’s itching for more grandkids now that she’s got a taste of Victorie and Dom,” he grinned. 

Hermione blushed furiously and scrambled to change the subject. “So what have you got to tell us?” she asked Harry bluntly. 

Harry realized immediately that he shouldn’t have teased her about kids— he’d wanted more time to lead up to the conversation.

“He’s got something to tell us?” Ron whispered loudly to Hermione.

“Why else would he show up two hours before dinner?” she whispered loudly in return. “Well?” she directed her attention to Harry again.

“Er— well— I…”

“Spit it out, mate!” Ron cried impatiently.

“I’vemadefriendswithDracoMalfoyandIthinkIfancyhim,” Harry blurted. Merlin’s Beard, he thought as the flush crept up his neck and to his cheeks. The last statement surprised even him, but he realized now that it was not at all far from the truth.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement and a flash of light—

***

“You can’t just stun him!” Hermione was saying while patting a cool, wet cloth over Harry’s forehead.

“What was I supposed to do?” Ron cried, “He’s been cursed! Or jinxed! Or— slipped a love potion or something, I don’t know!”

“I don’t think that’s the case, Ronald! He seems fine— other than the face that you’ve stunned our best friend!” she hissed. 

Harry groaned loudly and shifted on the ground, attempting to rid himself of the rock that was stabbing him in the back. “Urgh,” he mumbled, “I guess that’s the worst case scenario, then.”

Hermione dragged him up to a sitting position— against his will— and began interrogating him at rapid speed. “When did the two of you start talking? How did you start talking? Are you quite sure that you haven’t been given a love potion? How much time have you been spending with Malfoy?” she rattled off.

“And,” Ron added, “since when are you gay?!

“He’s not gay, you jerk,” Ginny said from the back doorway of the house, Neville standing by her side.

“Then what do you call a bloke who likes other blokes?” Ron cried. 

Ginny stomped across the lawn, Neville trailing behind her, and knelt on the ground next to Harry. “Your best friend,” she said deliberately, checking Harry’s pupils. 

“But— you dated him! You knew!” Ron accused.

“And it didn’t matter one bit, did it? He’s still Harry, he’s still our friend, and nothing’s changed.”

“But— Malfoy!”

“But nothing, Ronald!” Hermione scolded, “Ginny’s right. He’s still Harry,” she said, helping Ginny to haul Harry to his feet, then lead him to wooden swing. 

Ron’s eyes widened as they helped Harry up, realizing what he’d done. “I hexed him. I hexed my best friend— oh, Merlin,” he moaned.

“It’s alright, Ron,” Harry groaned as he sat back in the seat, “I sort of expected it, to be honest.” 

“Expected it? You expected your best friend to hex you? Some friend I must be,” he pouted, then threw himself into the seat beside Harry, who grunted uncomfortably at the movement. 

“I’m sorry, mate— I thought you’d been… Imperiused, or something, I don’t know. It’s not every day your best mate tells you he fancies his arch nemesis.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry reassured him. Neville and Ginny excused themselves to go get Harry some ice while Hermione dragged the abandoned lawn chair over and plopped down in it. 

“I think you owe us an explanation, Harry. This seems to have been going on for quite some time— why haven’t you told us?”

Harry glanced meaningfully over at Ron. 

“Alright, fine, maybe we aren’t the easiest people to tell, but we still deserve to know. We’re your best friends.”

“I know— that’s why I was so afraid to tell you. I didn’t mean for it to happen— we just started talking after that dinner party and never really stopped. I never thought it would get this far. I didn’t even realize how I felt until just now.”

“I just don’t understand how you could stand that guy,” said Ron, “he’s a total—”

“Prick? Yeah, he is, but it’s more like… friendly banter now. I expect it from him, and I can dish it out too. He’s not the only one who’s at fault for the way we used to torment each other.”

“Harry’s right, Ron— we’ve always been suspicious of Malfoy, regardless of whether or not he was involved. We even accused him of opening the Chamber in second year, remember?”

“Yeah, but his dad slipped Ginny that book,” countered Ron. 

“And I was the one who stupidly poured my heart out into it,” Ginny said when she returned with the bag of ice, then handed it to Harry. “Draco’s a prick, but he’s not his father.”

“He doesn’t have contact with his parents anymore. They’ve cut him out of the family fortune, according to The Prophet, but no one knows why,” Hermione supplied.

“You still read that rubbish?” Ginny asked her suspiciously.

“I want to know what the world is saying, whether it’s true or not,” Hermione shrugged. “The point is that he’s teaching at Hogwarts for the money, which means he’s taking it seriously, right Harry?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “he hasn’t spoken to his parents in months.”

“So explain it to us, then,” she told him. “Tell us how you fell in love with your enemy.”

And so Harry did. 

***

“Hagrid thinks that he likes being with me, but I have no idea what he means by that.”

Ron groaned loudly. “Even Hagrid knew before us? What are we, chopped liver?” Everyone ignored him.

“Does he fancy you back?” Hermione asked gently when Harry was done telling them about how he’d gotten to know Draco over the past few months. Ginny and Neville had gone off alone some time ago; it was just the three of them now. 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. 

“Why don’t you ask him then?” a sharp voice asked from across the garden. Harry looked over in time to see Draco stepping out from behind Neville and Ginny, who had appeared almost as suddenly as they’d left.

“Sorry again, Harry— she made me go fetch him from Hogwarts,” Neville called sheepishly across the yard. 

Harry abandoned his spot on the swing, tossing the melting bag of ice behind him, which landed in Ron’s lap with a splat! and an oomph!, and walked over to Draco. 

“You came to The Burrow?” Harry asked, shocked to his very core. 

“As you may have heard from Longbottom over there, I didn’t have much choice. Your ex,” he said sharply, with a hint of something like jealousy in his voice, “can be quite persuasive, though I didn’t require much persuading.”

Harry blushed shyly. “I suppose that’s because you want to convince me to buy you something else in Hogsmeade next weekend for abandoning you today?”

“Guess again, you idiot,” Draco said, snatching the front of Harry’s shirt. He pulled him in; their lips met in a soft, warm sort of way. It was completely different than how Harry ever imagined it would be, with all of Draco’s sharp edges and thorny words.

It made Harry’s heart throb with fervor as he kissed Draco back, grabbing on to whatever he could: Draco’s jacket, his neck, his hair. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry breathed between kisses, eager to explore every part of Draco’s body. He supposed, though, that his face would do for now.

Draco stopped kissing him and glanced back at Ron. He was clutching the mostly-melted bag of ice to his stomach where it hit him. “Weasley hexed you, didn’t he? Because you told him how you feel?”

“Well, actually he stunned me, but yeah,” Harry admitted, licking his warm, tender lips. 

“That’s why,” Draco told him, stepping away. Harry’s arms immediately felt empty without Draco in them. “I should go,” he said, and headed back the way he came. 

Harry eyes searched the room for his friends, whose approval he sought before anyone else’s. Finally he locked eyes with Ron. 

“Oh, alright, go on then!” Ron nearly shouted, shooing Harry away with his hands. A grin spread across Harry’s face as he practically sprouted wings and took flight into the house, headed straight for the fireplace. He only vaguely registered cheers coming from the backyard, laced with one single reluctant “Ehhhh.”

Still, it was enough.

***

It was late— later than he’d realized when he arrived back at the school. You’re going to miss dinner, part of him said. The other part told the first part of him to sod off. 

He rushed through the halls to Malfoy’s chambers, not bothering to explain where he was going to the students he nearly knocked over. However, when he got there, no one was around. Where could he have gone?

Harry searched his brain for a clue. There had to be something, anything that would lead him to Draco. Suddenly he remembered the decorative pumpkins in Draco’s office. They were familiar… Too familiar…

***

Harry sprinted across the grounds. He nearly lost his balance several times, focused only on getting to his destination. After what felt like a lifetime, the cottage eventually came into view.

“Hagrid!” Harry shouted. “Hagrid!”

“Wha’ the blue blazes are you on abou’ now—” Hagrid roared from inside his cottage, flinging the door open with haste. “Oh, it’s you. Well come on, then, e’s at the table sulkin’.”

Harry finally slowed down and walked in hesitantly past Hagrid. There was Draco, a huge mug of tea already steaming in front of him. 

“It’s okay, Harry, you don’t have to apologize. I know we can’t be together— I know how your friends feel. I’m not nice— you’ve said it yourself. I’m pompous and rude and obviously not fit for bringing home to your family.”

Harry scoffed at him. “That’s not true, you prick. The only person you were rude tonight was me, when you walked out on me, and you’ve already been introduced to them. Do you want to know what they said?”

“Not particularly, no,” Draco admitted.

“Well, I’ll tell you anyway. They told me to come after you.”

“Who did?”

“Everyone,” Harry fibbed. He knew full well that Draco’s definition of “everyone” would definitely include the people inside the house, as well.

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“Fine,” he caved, “it wasn’t everyone. I didn’t call them all up and hold a meeting to ask “D’you think Draco Malfoy and I would make a fair match? By the way he’s coming round for dinner from now on’,” Harry said sarcastically. “But the people I care about the most were standing right there, all but shoving me into the fireplace themselves.”

Draco turned around quietly, his grey eyes meeting Harry’s like they had so many times in the past few months. This time there was a layer of vulnerability in them, something Harry had never seen before. “Really?”

 

“Well— honestly, no, not quite. But Ron shooed me away, and that’s something. And Hagrid! I came to ask Hagrid for advice about you yesterday. You’ve been chatting with him for a while, haven’t you? Long enough to get him to let you inside his cottage and give you pumpkins to decorate your office. Tell him what you told me, Hagrid,” Harry begged, directing the conversation to the giant that he assumed was in the room. However, Hagrid was not there when he turned around.

“Er— well, he’s not here, but he told me that you’re worth a chance, and he’s actually gotten to know you, hasn’t he? And he’s right, you are worth it.”

Draco’s gaze was cast downward now, toward the ragged carpet that Harry was standing on. Harry decided to try a different tactic. 

“What if I promise to pay for lunch and chocolates and books and one of those new reinforced cauldrons that they’ve just come out with? Percy says they’ve finally gotten the regulations smoothed out,” he offered enticingly.

“Are you trying to bribe me into being your boyfriend, Potter?” Malfoy scowled. Finally, something had at least made him participate in the conversation.

“If that’s what it takes, yeah— but I’d rather you just admit on your own that is is worth pursuing, regardless of the consequences.”

“I have to admit,” Draco said slowly, “I never would have imagined The Boy Who Lived grovelling at my feet, basically begging me to ruin his life.”

“I am not groveling,” Harry sneered, offended, “but I am asking. Be with me.”

Draco rose from the chair and stood in front of Harry, their lips just inches apart. “Well, I do want that cauldron…” he said, and they were kissing again for the second time that night, and it was every bit as incredible as the first.

“I’m sorry I ran out,” Draco said roughly. “I didn’t want to have to make you choose.”

“You never had to,” Harry whispered into his lips.

There was a loud, almost horn-like sound from the doorway, that startled them both so much that their teeth clacked together. 

“Oh, don’ mind me,” Hagrid sobbed into his tablecloth-sized handkerchief, “I jus’ love happy endings.”

***

Epilogue:

Harry rolled over and looked at the sleeping figure next to him. He smiled; the morning light came through the curtains and played softly on Draco’s sharp features. Draco stirred.

“Morning,” Harry greeted him, stretching.

Draco groaned and threw the sheets over his head. 

“So what do you want to do today?”

Draco groaned some more and began trying to shove Harry off of the bed with his feet. “Tea first, then talk,” he grumbled. 

Harry shoved his glasses on his face and allowed the world to come into focus, then got up to make the tea. When he returned, Draco was sitting up groggily in bed. Harry set an entire tray of food down in front of him, complete with tea, eggs, and toast, and then went back into the kitchen to fix his own tea.

“POTTER!” Draco shouted.

Harry sauntered back into the room with his cup and saucer and sat gently at the end of the bed. He took a sip. “Yes?”

“You could have killed me with this,” Draco sneered, holding a shiny object in the palm of his hand.

Harry sipped his tea again.

“And it’s all sticky.”

“Mmm,” was all Harry said, continuing to take small sips. 

“I could have swallowed it and died, Potter! Tell me, what kind of idiot proposes by putting a ring in their boyfriend’s tea?”

Harry grinned and took another sip. “So is that a yes?”

Draco frowned and wiped the ring off on Harry’s pillowcase, then placed it on his finger with a sigh. “At least you’ve good taste in jewelry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this has been un-betaed. Let's be gentle about it :) I'm also not very skilled at knowing what to tag, so please feel free to point them out if you find any!


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